


witching hour

by spilled_notes



Series: Utterances [6]
Category: Holby City
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-29
Updated: 2016-09-29
Packaged: 2018-08-18 13:37:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8163827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spilled_notes/pseuds/spilled_notes
Summary: For the prompt 'things you said at 1am'.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mixedfancies](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mixedfancies/gifts).



A long day in theatre together turns into an even longer night: complications following surgery mean a second emergency op for Mr. Davies, and when they’ve got him open again the problems just seem to keep coming. Tired as they are, Bernie and Serena work seamlessly, and finally – _finally_ – all that’s left to do is close.

‘You go, I’ll finish up here,’ Serena offers.

‘Are you sure?’

‘No sense in both of us staying.’

Their eyes meet over the table. After a long moment Bernie nods and, behind her mask, smiles. Serena watches her leave, then refocuses on the job at hand.

*

Serena wearily makes her way through the quiet ward to their office. When she opens the door she stops, breath catching at the sight before her: Bernie, leaning on her desk, head resting on folded arms, clearly asleep. In the lamplight her hair glimmers countless shades of gold.

She closes the door quietly, pads over and crouches beside her. She looks so peaceful, and Serena feels a rush of fondness. Then she reaches to gently stroke Bernie’s hair, fingers brushing the soft skin of her cheek.

Bernie stirs, opens her eyes and looks at Serena blearily from under her fringe.

‘All finished?’

Serena nods. She knows she should move away, get up and put some distance between them, but is transfixed by Bernie’s eyes.

‘Your back won’t thank you if you stay like that.’

Bernie smiles sleepily. ‘Maybe I just wanted to cadge another massage.’

‘You only needed to ask,’ Serena murmurs, fingers absently smoothing Bernie’s hair. ‘First port of call and all that.’

Bernie shifts, just enough to free one hand and rest it over Serena’s, fingers tangling together in her hair.

The low lamplight pours shadows into every line on Serena’s face, and Bernie is filled with a sudden urge to reach out and trace each one. To place soft kisses on the crow’s feet at the corners of her eyes, to follow the laughter and frown lines with her fingertips.

She contents herself with tracing them with her eyes instead, with brushing her thumb back and forth across Serena’s knuckles.

With imagining the smoothness of her skin, the tickling flutter of her eyelashes.

With breathing in the scent of her, hospital soap and gardenia and a lingering note of coffee, almost bewitching in the dim light and quiet lull of the early hours.


End file.
